Bab 18: Oliver Askelsen
I carefully reached out and plucked a single Flower of Xenus from the patch. The delicate petals glowed faintly in the dark, a silver hue that seemed almost alive in the eerie moonlight. I slipped it into the small pouch strapped to my belt, making sure it was secure before standing up and taking a moment to catch my breath. The sweat trickled down my temple, but I didn't dare wipe it off—my senses were on high alert.
The flower's faint glow lingered in my vision, and I wondered just how much power it truly held. It was said that the Flower of Xenus only grew in places soaked with demonic energy, feeding off the darkness like a parasite. This clearing—filled with an unsettling silence, broken only by faint rustling—definitely felt like one of those places.
As I turned to leave, something stopped me dead in my tracks. A low, guttural growl echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh tearing. My breath caught, and I instinctively pressed myself against the nearest tree, peering through the underbrush.
There, in the distance, a demon was hunched over a lifeless recruit. The beast's claws sank deep into the chest cavity, its jagged teeth ripping through flesh with sickening ease. Blood and gore splattered the ground around it, the once-human body now reduced to a grotesque mess of muscle and bone fragments. The stench of death wafted over, making bile rise in my throat.
But it wasn't the demon that made my blood run cold.
Standing there, just a few feet away from the monstrous creature, was Oliver Axelsen.
He wasn't fighting. Hell, he wasn't even armed. He just stood there, his face calm and completely devoid of fear as he watched the demon feed. It was like he was observing nothing more than a dog chewing on a bone.
I squinted, trying to understand what I was seeing. Why wasn't the demon attacking him? It was as if he and the creature were in some sort of silent agreement, some twisted understanding that defied all logic.
The demon finished its meal, pulling out what looked like a chunk of the recruit's skull. It chewed methodically, blood and brain matter dribbling from its maw as it swallowed. I could hear the wet crunch of bones breaking, the sound carrying over the dead silence of the woods.
And then, something even more disturbing happened.
The demon turned to face Oliver. It straightened up, its massive form towering over him, eyes glowing with a malevolent light. Black ichor dripped from its jaws as it regarded him, its gaze almost... respectful?
It nodded.
A slow, deliberate nod, like a servant acknowledging its master.
What the hell?
Oliver didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there, watching the demon as if he were studying an obedient pet. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he seemed to give some unspoken command.
The demon grunted, then turned and lumbered away, disappearing into the dense shadows of the forest without a second glance.
The clearing fell silent again, the only sounds now the faint rustling of leaves and the distant, haunting cries of other recruits. I stayed hidden behind the tree, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to make sense of what I'd just witnessed.
**What the hell is going on?**
Why didn't the demon attack him? And why did it act like it was... obeying him?
My grip tightened around the hilt of my sword, my mind racing. Every instinct screamed at me to be cautious, to stay low and avoid drawing any attention. I had come here expecting to fight demons—not to uncover something this twisted and inexplicable.
I slowly eased back, moving as silently as possible. I needed to get out of here, to put some distance between myself and Oliver before he noticed me. But as I stepped back, a twig snapped under my boot, and I froze, holding my breath.
Soon, Oliver moved with a casual grace towards the mutilated corpse, crouching down beside the shredded remains. He reached out, his fingers digging into the mess of blood and flesh until they found what he was looking for—a single, blood-soaked eye. He plucked it from the crushed skull, holding it up between thumb and forefinger as if admiring a rare gem.
Then, to my utter shock, he brought the eye to his mouth and ran his tongue over it. A grotesque wet sound followed as he licked the blood and viscera off the eyeball before tilting his head back and swallowing it whole. I felt my stomach twist in revulsion, but I stayed silent, barely daring to breathe.
Oliver's transformation was subtle at first—a slight twitch in his jaw, a darkening of his gaze. Then, without warning, he snapped his head up, his eyes locking onto mine through the darkness. My pulse stuttered. It was as if he'd known I was there all along.
A slow, cruel smirk spread across his face.
"You've seen something you shouldn't have," he said softly, his voice carrying a chilling note of amusement. "And now… I have to kill you."
Before I could react, Oliver's entire body seemed to ripple and expand. His muscles bulged grotesquely, veins standing out like cords along his neck and arms. The whites of his eyes bled into a deep, malevolent red, glowing faintly in the dim light. It was like watching a man become something else entirely—something monstrous.
He reached behind his back and drew a long, wicked blade, its polished silver surface gleaming in the moonlight. It looked like a weapon crafted for one purpose: killing. The air around him seemed to vibrate with a dark energy, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Let's see if you can handle this," he murmured, eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.
I gripped the hilt of my blade and swiftly unsheathed it, the familiar weight settling in my hand. Shifting into an offensive stance, I kept my gaze locked on Oliver. My legs were slightly bent, one foot in front of the other, ready to propel me forward at a moment's notice. The blade hummed with a barely contained energy, the translucent black surface glinting menacingly under the moonlight. I exhaled slowly, steadying my breath, waiting for the slightest hint of movement from him.
Oliver vanished from sight in a blur, a rush of wind the only trace of his movement. My instincts screamed danger from behind. Without a moment's hesitation, I lunged forward, the muscles in my legs burning as I propelled myself out of reach. A metallic hiss split the air behind me, Oliver's blade slicing through empty space where I'd just stood. I turned sharply, facing him once more, heart racing. His lips curled into a sinister grin, eyes glowing crimson. He was toying with me.
"Not a complete rookie to the sword, I see," Oliver sneered. The next instant, he dashed forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. His blade shot toward my chest like a silver comet, aiming for my heart. I shifted my weight, bringing my own sword up just in time to meet his thrust. Steel clashed against steel with a screeching grind, my arm trembling under the force of his strike, but I held my ground and deflected his blade to the side.
We circled each other, swords singing through the air as we traded blows. Each clash was a burst of sound, a crack of thunder in the stillness of the forest. Oliver's strikes were brutal and precise, his blade moving with a speed and power that made it hard to keep up. Every time I blocked or parried, the force of his blows reverberated through my arm, threatening to wrench the sword from my grip.
He wasn't just strong—he was relentless. Each time I managed to deflect his attack, he was already launching another, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. It was like trying to hold back a raging storm with a single blade.
I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar surge of energy as I channeled the third form of Wind Breathing. My sword whirled around me in a storm of motion, the air crackling with the force of my attack. I saw the opening—a perfect gap between Oliver's strikes—and seized it. The blade screamed through the air, aimed straight for his neck.
But before it could connect, Oliver's hand shot up like lightning, gripping the edge of the sword with his bare fingers. Blood trickled down his palm, yet his expression didn't waver. He tightened his grasp, and with a feral grin, yanked the blade off course.
"Too slow," he snarled, swinging his sword upward in a vicious counter. I barely twisted out of the way, feeling the blade's edge graze my face. Pain flared, hot and blinding, as I stumbled back. I reached up, feeling warm blood trickling down my cheek.
My left eye throbbed, and when I blinked, the world was tinted red. A deep, stinging cut ran across my face, dangerously close to the eye. I grit my teeth, staring at Oliver through the haze of blood and pain.
He smiled, lifting his blade to lick the blood off its edge. "Looks like I finally landed a good hit."
I tightened my grip on the sword, breath ragged, knowing that one more mistake could cost me everything.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone